Wes
by Yogurt Tea
Summary: It was strange that the one who couldn't talk had the most to say; A collection of oneshots featuring Wes and the other survivors.
1. Ghosts and Rabbits (Wendy)

Summary: It was strange that the one who couldn't talk had the most to say

Wes plucked the rabbit out of the trap before placing a new trap atop the rabbit hole. He sighed. It was his self-assigned job to get enough small meats for the others, even though they had long reached the point where their base was perfectly stocked and ready for any kind of problem.

A small hand tapped his shoulder, Wes spun around to see Wendy staring at him. He never really interacted with the younger child, as embarrassingly enough, he was quite intimidated by her.

"Why do you continue to catch rabbits?" Wendy asked the question with no malice behind her words. "We have enough food to last all year. We have entire farms of dragon fruit and koalaphants herded in pens for emergencies. There simply is no point for you to continue to waste your energy."

Wes scratched the back of his head a bit flustered. Wendy continued to stare at him as if expecting a response. Her face hit a moment of clarity as if she remembered something.

"Ah. I forgot. You do not talk." Her nose scrunched up as if remembered something foul.

Wes averted his eyes, feeling a bit offended by her snide remark. It was one thing to ask a question, and another to insult him. He walked past Wendy, no longer wanting to talk to her.

"You did not answer my question. Why do you keep gathering food?" Wendy walked alongside Wes. Wes sped up his pace. He wished she could get a hint

"Are you afraid?" Wes slowed his walk to give the girl a confused look, "Are you afraid they will leave you?" Wes stopped to face her.

He did have a fear. He was scared that perhaps one day they would be desperate for food and resources. If one person had to be sacrificed, it would be him. He was a weak frail mime who ate more than any of them, it was obvious that if it came down to it he would be last pick for survival. Sometimes he thinks if he got seriously hurt, they wouldn't help him, he would only get hurt again and use up more supplies."

Wendy took notice of the sudden halt in his stride, "It is a stupid fear to have." Wes glared at her, almost as if daring her to say more.

She continued on, "You know as well as I do that you aren't useless. You're weak. So am I. Yet we both are still alive and thriving with the group. Do you see me as a burden? Of course not. You're so blind you cannot see that nobody except you sees you that way." She paused for a second. "Although if you actually talked to us, I'm sure their opinion of you would improve. I know I am personally sick of trying to understand your ridiculous gestures." Wendy spat bitterly

Wes blinked a few times in shock of what the young girl had to say. It didn't take a genius to see the shift in her mood. Wendy was far from a normal girl, although she seems to have the same abundance of anger as one. Wes hesitatingly rested a hand on Wendy's shoulder, hoping it was the right move..

"I hate it when people don't respond to me. When I talk and have to listen to my own echo even if someone is there." Wendy closed her eyes to shut out the world.

The ghost of her sister lurked only a few feet behind Wendy. A shiver prickled Wes' skin. It seemed Abigale's revival did more harm than good to the poor girl's psyche.

Wanting to comfort Wendy, Wes knelt down and wrapped his arms around Wendy in an embrace. She gave a weak squeeze in return. It was a nonverbal way of communicating that he hoped would be enough for her.

When they returned to camp, the sun was tinged with the hue of the evening. Wes quietly emptied more rabbits into the many chests they had. Wendy watched, a forlorn expression on her face.

Wendy dragged herself over to the small tent to sleep. She gave a quick pitiful look at him before going to sleep.

When night came, Wes kept thinking back to what his conversation with Wendy. While he was afraid of being abandoned, it wasn't what kept him awake at night. In his worst nightmares, he believed they cared for him, they would laugh with him and he'd feel loved. But something would always happen. Hounds, spiders, or even giants would come after him, and his friends would try to stand by him.

And. They. All. Die

What kept him up was how easily it could happen one day.


	2. Of Wood and Trees (Woodie)

When a gigantic monstrous Bearger starts chasing Wes, he knew that right now, running would probably be a good idea

The base camp, where he and a couple of the other survivors were, had a mass array of tooth traps to help fight off the monsters that came this second year. It was a day's trek back to camp, in other word's too far to go back without dying.

The thundering steps of the Bearger shook the ground, the swishing sound of pine trees falling in it's wake was something to be feared.

Before Wes was aware what was happening, he heard the Bearger roar, the stomping grew faster and increasingly closer. The ground shook with an intensity that would make a moderate earthquake docile. His heart skipped a moment when he felt something shove him to the ground.

A flurry of thoughts raced through, an insane race of questions about his life and what would happen next. The sharp pressure on his back remained, keeping him pressed against the ground

His questions were soon answered as a Treeguard sprouted from the the large pine nearby the grave of trees. He soon realized the thing that had fallen on top of him was a pine tree, that thankfully had not crushed him. In a morbid fascination, Wes watched the Treeguard swipe at the Bearger, tearing flesh from bone and leaving blood-matted fur. Wes didn't dare move in fear the Bearger might come after him

Wes' worries proved unnecessary as the Bearger fell by the Treeguard's bloodied branches. A relief filled Wes as the threat collapsed on the ground, with plenty of fur for a winter coat.

Wes reached his hands out to pull himself out from under the tree. His hands pulled at the ground, but his body stayed stuck underneath. A new found panic consumed him. The evening sky told him it was turning into night. Wes frantically clawed at the ground, he wouldn't last long out here, he couldn't stay here.

Wes gripped his head, trying to quieten the his buzzing head. Food wasn't the biggest issue, he had what was probably crushed handful of berries in his backpack. He felt the sticky juice leach on the back of his shirt. Well, food might be a problem now.

The nearly burnt-out torch lying in his pack could last him if he only lit it when the darkness started to get too close. Constantly lighting it on and off, leaving himself vulnerable to the dark more often than not. The pressure of the tree on his back only made it harder to breathe. His best chance was to hope someone would come for him after realizing he didn't come back the next day. He did not want to think about the possibility that they would only come in time to find a rotted corpse.

Then he started to wonder whether anyone would really care. While Wendy said otherwise, he really couldn't be as useful as the haunted child. At least the spirit she controlled had saved them from grievous wounds and death multiple times.

He sat there lost in his own head for a while, interrupted only when he saw Woodie in the distance walking around with that strange ax. He felt his heart soar. The rescue he thought he'd have to wait for all night was already here. He felt like he could breathe again. The lumberjack could easily chop the tree trapping him, and he would live to see another day.

He opened his mouth to draw attention, but his ears reminded him of the reality. Despite his vocal chords straining to make the slightest sound, the rustling of leaves was the only sound to be heard.

He watched with a sinking feeling as Woodie benignly turned to inspect a pond. Wes ironically wanted to scream. His mind begged Woodie to just turn around, he would see the wreckage the battle had caused. Then he would find Wes and help him out of this mess. The way Wes saw it, if Woodie didn't find him now, he really would die here.

Wes watched in horror as he saw Woodie turn the wrong direction and slowly begin to walk away. In almost a hysteria, Wes started to slam his hands onto the branches of the tree. He could barely feel the bark digging into his skin and drawing blood. The dull thuds and snaps would be worth the pain if only the lumberjack would look his way.

A hollow apathy replaced his desperation, he watched as Woodie walked further and further away, finally disappearing from sight.

He gingerly pulled out a torch from his pack, his numb fingers made it hard for him to find it. The abrupt shift to darkness was going to visit him very soon.

The silent hum of evening left as the world shifted to night.

Wes tried to light the torch, the combination of the berries and his blood had made the wood soggy, impossible to light. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to face the dark. He didn't want to die like that, a ripping apart from the insides, a mind screaming with voices not of one's own.

He waited. He didn't hear anything, nor feel any pain. He knew he wasn't dead from the way his breath was quavering with his body. He opened his eyes. The sweet light of the full moon basked him in it's safety.

He would have cried had he had the energy to. Instead he shut his eyes again, resting his head on the ground, an ear against the cold earth. The ground pulsated with the drum of footsteps. Wes didn't even bother to think about the horror finally coming to get him, most likely hounds smelling the blood on his hands.

He kept his eyes shut, wanting to believe he was alright with the sounds of the crunching and thumps getting closer and closer. In truth, the cracks of wood, the gnashing of teeth scared Wes, perhaps more more than the Bearger. Here he was trapped, just like the rabbits he caught, waiting to be snatched away and eaten.

The beast was practically next to him now. Contrary to what Wes thought he would feel, he felt as if a weight was being lifted, like he could breathe easier. The gnashing of teeth was flicking wood bits in his face, but not his own blood. It didn't take long to realize that the pressure being lifted was literal.

Wes opened his eyes to see a monstrous beaver creature eating away at the trunk lying on top of him. This was confusing. While the fear was still there, the confusion was more pronounced. "What the hell?"

The beaver gnawed its way through the entire trunk and started moving onto another one. Wes wriggled out from the shreds still leftover. It was a bit dizzying getting up after such a cramped position for so long, but it was more empowering than beating any beast Wigifrid fought.

Looking back on it, he probably should have high tailed straight back to base. Instead, against rational judgment he watched as the creature's movements started to grow sluggish as it tried to move its way through the grave of trees.

He watched as his strange savior collapsed on the ground. The fur slowly shrank back into the skin of the creature. Wes blinked, he would've sworn he was going insane as all that was left of the strange beast was the all too familiar Canadian parading around earlier.

He cautiously approached the curled form lying on the ground. He wondered if the others knew about Woodie's condition. He ignored the feeling of fear of his friend and sat on a nearby stump. He couldn't rest easy leaving one of the survivors from camp vulnerable and alone. Even if the most Wes could do was be a living shield for about ten seconds.

Strange enough, when the sun rose, Woodie rose along with it. Wes figured it was some sort of curse thing. The stinging of his hands reminded him of the abandonment he felt when Woodie walked away. An irrational grudge to have, but Wes couldn't help but feel it as he saw the man get to his feet, once again, not noticing the mime next to him.

Wes knocked on the wood despite the pain swelling in his hands. To his satisfaction, Woodie turned around alarmed to see Wes sitting on the stump. Wes stared at Woodie, seeing his face morph into different expressions, fear, confusion, and worry.

"What happened to you?" Woodie gestured to his bloodied hands. Wes pursed his lips, not wanting to tell what happened, and not able to communicate what happened. Wes just pointed to the mess of trees and the dead Bearger corpse.

Woodie chuckled, "You sure did a number on that bear all by yourself."

Wes shook his head, in a simple answer of no. He pointed again at the trees, and made rising motion with his hands.

"Never underestimate the power of trees, they are nature's greatest force" Woodie shook his head as if remembering something unpleasant. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder "I need to grab Lucy, I can't leave her stranded out there eh?"

Wes stood there, pondering whether to run back to camp alone, or to follow the werebeaver man. He quickly decided to pursue him. He snatched some of the soft, comforting fur of the dead Bearger, he winced as the hair brushed against his injured hands. He followed Woodie about ten meters from behind, still cautious of the strange morphing he witnessed minutes ago.

Wes caught up to Woodie easily, as he was mumbling something to "Lucy". While Wes would admit the axe was made of a unique material, it was still worrisome to see Woodie so attached to it. Wes gently tapped Woodie on the shoulder, he was greeted with Lucy pointed at his throat. Woodie flinched when he saw the shaken mime at the end of the blade.

"Sorry. I'm still rattled from the full moon. It puts me on edge." Woodie rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Wes pointed at him and made a confused face. Woodie nodded, understanding what he was asking.

"Full moon. Guess I forgot to let you in the loop eh? The curse I was given when I came onto this here island. It's a joke, me being a woodsman and all. Every single full moon or when I'm trying to relax and cut down too many trees, I turn into an overgrown beaver hungry for wood." A sad smile played on his face, all too common on the island, "Lucy here was turned into an axe, she helps me get through when things are rough."

They walked in silence towards camp. Woodie fidgeted with Lucy in his hands, trying to think of something to say.

"Y'know, most of the other survivors think I go complete whacko when I'm transformed." He paused for a moment of thought, "Well, that's kind've true, but the thing is, I do remember all that happens while transformed, and it got me wondering. How'd you get trapped under that tree?" The grimace Wes gave him provoked another response from Woodie, "Don't worry 'bout it. I won't tell anyone, might be good for trustin' someone around camp, seeing as you don't talk much to anyone."

Wes didn't respond. His face twisted into a scowl, hoping Woodie got the message that he really did not feel like listening and would not respond to the woodsman's rambles. Especially considering the answer was literally the corpse he knew Woodie saw.

Wes pointed to the tufts of Bearger fur poking out of his pack. An inaudible click sounded in Woodie's mind.

"Oh, makes sense." A pause, "Glad to see you're still standing, hands and everything. This earned a snort from Wes, an equivalent to a laugh. Woodie grinned, more in relief. They continued to walk.

A loud rumble sounded from his stomach, Woodie wordlessly pulled the array of jerky from his pack, and offered one of the many meats he had stored. Wes stared at the juicy dried meat for a few seconds, trying to process the meaning, before grabbing it a little too eagerly. His dropped the meat as his hands burned from the pressure. He cursed his own stupidity.

Woodie offered another clean piece of jerky, "Here I can just feed it to you."

Wes took the jerky from Woodie's hands. He nodded in thanks, but he preferred not to rely on others too much. He fed himself with hands shaking from the pain. Woodie watched with a concerned expression, but did not say anything.

They continued to walk, closing in on camp.

When they entered camp, Woodie started to get items out of the chests, mumbling something about wood and spiders. Wes sat next to the fireplace. The dead fireplace was somewhat comforting. The exhaustion of panicking was a bit much. He didn't think he would come back to the fireplace ever again. It felt so good to be wrong.

He heard footsteps approaching him, "Here, give me your hands." Woodie showed the mime the bandages laced with healing ' heart swelled with gratitude, he silently put his hands out in front of him. Woodie knelt down and gingerly began to wrap Wes' hands with the bandages. Wes couldn't help staring at the woodsman orange hair. He had to admit, for the unruly mess it was, the hue really did look nice. He wondered if gingers had to take care of their hair any differently from brunettes or.. noirettes? What was the name for black haired people? Wes' dilemma was soon forgotten as he saw his hands neatly wrapped in bandages

"There. That looks better." Woodie proudly stepped back to view his work. Wes smiled as he clapped softly, while it was a bit stiff, the pain had very much been dulled compared to before. Wes quickly turned around to pull the Bearger fur from his pack. He nudged Woodie's hands with the warm fur.

Woodie gave him a confused look, "What's this for?"

"I think you mean, what is this fur!" Wes and Woodie both ignored the shout from Wilson who was sitting near the alchemy machine.

Wes made a gesture, pointing with both hands to him, then Woodie, "From me to you." He made another motion, pointing to the fur, then pointing to his face, He slowly mouthed the word "Thanks."

Judging by the bushy raised eyebrows, Woodie seemed to surprised Wes would rather mouth words than voice them.

"No problem. We got to look after each other y'know? You don't need to give me this." Woodie placed the fur back into Wes' arms, "You're an important part of this family here. We can't be losing any of us now can we?" He smiled before turning off to the crockpots

Wes found himself smiling again. Unlike his encounter with Wendy, he felt a lighter and less burdened by everything

Later on, the other survivors noticed Wes spending more time with Woodie.


End file.
